


Amelioration

by headtripparade



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beth Greene Lives, Dog Owner Daryl Dixon, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Post-All Out War Arc (Walking Dead), UBFL Regrowth, Ultimate Bethyl Fic List Spring Event: Regrowth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23748373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headtripparade/pseuds/headtripparade
Summary: Sometimes, scars are what you need to know the wound has healed and you’re still living. Beth uses that knowledge to inform her next move.Companion piece to ‘Certitude.’ UBFL Regrowth contribution.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Beth Greene
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: UBFL Spring Event





	Amelioration

**Author's Note:**

> Hidy ho! So I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do for the Regrowth project and this happened. I didn’t start it as a companion piece to ‘Certitude,’ but hey. Shit happens sometimes. 
> 
> :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys. Quarantine is rough but I’m thankful we are all still here. ❤️

It was as good a day as any to let her brain run wild, she figured, laying her head back against the slats of the rocking chair and allowing the late-summer breeze to tickle her face. 

If she was being honest, it reminded her of the way it felt some decade prior when she’d be lazing around the farmhouse after finishing her chores and her cat, Piper, would delicately rub her whiskers against her face. 

She smirked. 

She knew she couldn’t begin to tell anyone exactly why that’s the thought that popped into her head, but it was what it was. She’d tried for a hot minute a while back to pretend that she no longer had the time or desire to call upon such mundane memories, but she quickly discovered that she had no option—it was something she _had_ to do.

For her sanity, Beth had to remember Piper’s whiskers, or the way she would trot into the bathroom and sit eerily still on the vanity while she awaited her human to emerge from the shower. 

She had to remember the way the handle on her shower shrieked like the token doomed cheerleader in a cheesy horror flick every time she turned the hot water on. 

She had to remember Shawn watching said horror flicks at a volume that never failed to be suitable for waking the dead, and she certainly had to remember there was a time when that figure of speech wasn’t in such poor taste.

At times, she almost felt a looming responsibility to document these memories for the kids now. Sure, they wouldn’t know what a movie actually was, but she’d envisioned it as something resembling an informative editor’s letter, stating something to the effect of ”yes, Virginia. There _did_ used to be a Santa Claus.”

_Sigh._

Glancing down at the soggy cucumber slice in her room temperature water, she decided it wasn’t nearly as refreshing as the chilled pitchers of cucumber and mint water her mama would make, but _oh_ , was it glorious. She couldn’t be more grateful. 

It was the sixth summer since the world went to utter shit; since Rick showed up on the farm carrying his bloody son. So much— _too much_ —had happened in those years since that at best it gave her a migraine to try and process it all in one go, so here she sat: in a rocking chair on her own front porch, safe for the moment, thanking whatever omniscient power there was that she could even drink water with fucking cucumber while Daryl slept upstairs in their bed. 

Hell, just the fact of Daryl being home at all, much less sleeping sound, was enough to scream gratitude towards the heavens. There was little she considered worse than the period after the war when he’d retreated so far into his anger that he’d seemed to have zero issues just leaving her sobbing on their porch as he took off for the Sanctuary. 

She’d known the problem wasn’t her, or even them—it was something he was going to have to get through on his own while she waited and did whatever he needed her to do, but that didn’t make her feel any less wretched. 

He’d come and go intermittently and she’d talk and he wouldn’t. They’d fuck and it would relieve none of their stress, so they’d throw some ‘I Love Yous’ around amidst his mood and then he’d go away again. It was miserable; _she_ was miserable, but much like everything else, it was what it was. 

Then there was Rick. 

His death had gotten Daryl home, which was half of the battle, but damn it--the pain. The sheer pain hanging over all of them like a mourning veil was suffocating. 

She shuddered. Her mind was going down paths she’d hoped were well enough blocked off. They’d all come so far—especially Daryl—that she saw no welcome reason for wallowing in that time. RJ had been born, afterall. Maggie finally started bringing Hershel around for visits... and, of course, they were safe again. 

They were safe and they each other and that was everything.

His healing had been silent, but it was there. In every movement and every breath, she began to see the gaping wound fade and the scar take its place. _Of course_ there would be a scar, but it wouldn’t be so angry and painful as the gash. No scar ever was, and maybe that’s why she found them so beautiful.They didn’t have to always represent what put them there--they could remind one that they’d made it out alive. She had enough scars of both the physical and mental variety for herself to confirm this very belief.

And she believed it enough that her next train of thought no longer seemed so dangerous. If anything, it almost felt _right._

—

She startled at the sound of the door opening, swinging her head in just enough time to watch the summer wreath she made disappear behind his shaggy bed head. Just as he stepped out, he was passed up by a very large, slobbering puppy who had clearly just inhaled an entire bowl of water.

She smiled brightly. 

_My little family._

“Mornin’.”

He nodded, approaching her tentatively as she sat her long-empty water glass down and cupped the pup’s head with both hands, rubbing her fingers gently between his ears. 

“Hey,” he leaned over to kiss the top of her head before propping himself up on the railing across from her. “What’s up?”

To her surprise, her stomach fluttered. It was the first time she’d laid eyes on him since coming to her conclusion and it felt different, somehow. Literally nothing had changed. He was still beautiful and still hers, and yet it felt so unfamiliar. Not bad, just new. 

“Nothin’, I just came out to think for a little bit.”

He hummed and took a cigarette from his shirt pocket, lighting it while commanding Dog down the stairs to do his morning business. Beth groaned. 

“What?” He shot his eyes to hers.

“You know I hate that name.”

He shrugged and scratched the back of his head, exhaling a cloud of smoke to the side.

He’d found the puppy a few hunts back and brought it home, much to Beth’s delight, but then he’d had to explain how the completely handsome shepherd mix had been dubbed ‘Dog’ in the hour between being found and eagerly busting through their door for the first time. 

She had not been shy about her displeasure with his excuse. 

_”He’s a dog, so I called him Dog,”_ he’d told her. _”s’that or Mutt. But he likes Dog better.”_

She giggled and placed her bare feet up against the railing, just shy of his hip. 

“Where are you workin’ today?”

He shrugged again, taking note of Dog’s whereabouts. 

“Dunno. Was thinkin’ I might take it off.”

She glanced up at him, wide-eyed. “Really? You took Tuesday.” 

It was a constant battle between the two of them. It was probably easier to get a root canal than to convince him that it was okay to take one day during the week for himself—forget two days. This was some sort of friggin August Christmas miracle. 

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “Just wanna be home today.”

Consciously or not, he nudged himself closer to where her feet rested and this... _this_ little nothing of a movement was everything; another reason to be solidly confident in telling him what's been on her mind for the last hour.

She kicked his elbow softly, getting him to look at her. She grinned.

“That’s good, Daryl. You don’t have to be running around all the time. It’s okay to rest.”

He nodded again and took a hit of his cigarette, looking back out to make sure Dog hadn’t left the yard. He hadn’t, of course. Daryl had been completely patient and diligent when training him. 

Beth shifted in the rocker, lowering her voice a bit. 

“And maybe, you being home today, we could talk.”

Whistling for Dog to come back, he turned his eyes back to hers. 

“‘Bout what?”

She took in a sharp breath through her nose, bringing with it a funky mixture of his cigarette, the fresh dog poop in the yard that one of them needed to clean STAT, and the fragrant wildflowers that resided at the bottom of the steps.

_Now or never, Beth. Or you could wait an hour. Or a day, but let’s go with now._

“There’s just, um... I—” She nervously clasped her hands over the arms of the chair. “I was thinkin’...” 

She trailed off, watching Daryl lean down to pet Dog enthusiastically upon his return. 

“Spit it out, Greene.” 

“I want a baby.”

His body froze and his eyes seemed stuck on Dog, but she couldn’t tell what was swimming there. That in and of itself made her uncomfortable because even in his deepest depths of anger or pain or self-doubt, she could always read him.

He swallowed and brought his thumb to his lip, slowly steering his eyes to lock on hers. 

“Why?” His voice cracked, but she was unsure if it was because he’d spoken very little this morning or because she had scared him shitless. Likely both, but that was neither here nor there. 

“‘Cause I need to teach you how to properly name a living creature.”

There was no sarcasm in her tone, probably because she wasn’t kidding, but she made sure the playful grin tugging on her mouth spelled it out for him. 

He didn’t smile back.

“Seriously, Beth. Why?”

Okay. So he wasn’t going for the banter. She rolled her eyes a bit, accepting that she was going to have to deploy practical tactics. 

“‘Cause we have a home. Things feel calm, finally. And being around RJ and Judith and Gracie and Hershel... it’s just something I want, Daryl. Give me a reason why not.”

Huffing out the closest thing he could to a laugh, he took the final drag of his cigarette before dropping it under his boot.

“Could give you ten off the top of my head.”

She glanced down at her lap, so sure that all ten of his reasons plus seventeen more had weighed her down at any given point throughout the morning. But it didn’t matter. She’d considered all of the ugliness and still came out determined. 

_Wounds give way for scars,_ she repeated to herself. _Ugliness gives way for beauty._

“I know, I know. This could happen or that could happen, but that comes with everything now. We can’t be afraid of that. We just can’t.”

He shook his head, lowering his gaze to his feet.

“Beth...”

“I wanna be a mama.” 

Well, she certainly hadn’t meant for there to be any tears, so the sound of her voice rattling and the wet burn at the brim of her eyes made for a nice little surprise. She ignored the sting and lifted her stare to him. She pressed on, not caring that he kept looking at his feet or that his gaze was still blank. She knew he was listening to every word.

“I wanna teach my child everything my mama taught me. I wanna make ‘em cucumber water when they come in from playing outside. I wanna kiss their elbow when they scrape it up. I wanna blow raspberries on ‘em at bedtime. I wanna love ‘em.”

She exhaled shakily and brought her feet down from the railing, scooting to the edge of the chair and grabbing his elbow. His eyes drifted over to where Dog had curled up before finding hers, and she couldn't help but smile. He wasn’t angry, or dismissive. He didn’t even look scared. All she could really see on his face was raw, unfiltered fucking _love_ and the reassurance that he wanted to continue hearing her out. 

_Go on, girl._

“I wanna watch you be a daddy. I want us to make ‘me strong together. I wanna know we’re still alive... and I want _you_ to know we’re still alive.”

He shifted uncomfortably, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Are we?”

She nodded. Still smiling. Always smiling. 

“We are.”

He sighed, chewing his cheek for what she assumed was an actual eternity before grumbling. 

“Don’t think I’m too old for this shit?”

She giggled, rolling her eyes.

“You’re 40, Daryl. My daddy was 57 when he had me.” He grunted, completely owned. She stood to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. “You know I’d never make you do something you didn’t wanna do, but give it—”

“Alright.”

_What?_

She’d put so much thought into justifying why she wanted it and why he should too that she hadn’t really considered what would happen when he actually agreed. 

“Alright?” Her head stayed on his shoulder, but she could feel the slightest, most earth shattering subtle grin pulling on his face. 

“Alright.”

She raised her head and stared him down. The sting in her eyes was back and oh my _god_ , did she not care. 

“Really?”

“Christ, girl. Am I a broken record now?”

There was no reason to answer that question, she figured. There was no reason to say anything. She reckoned she couldn’t have said much if she tried, anyhow. 

All she could do was laugh; laugh, and of course smash her lips on his like it was the first and last time she’d ever do so. Like there was nothing else in the world to do. 

He quickly broke away, bringing his hands to either side of her face and just staring at her. Smirking, he slid his hand down from her face and rested it gently, yet oh so protectively, on her hip. 

“You best get inside ‘fore I change my mind.”

And that was that. She raised her eyebrow, gave him a quick peck and turned for the door. She could feel his smirk following her and Christ almighty, her knees went weak. 

There really was nothing more humbling; more gorgeously agonizing than knowing that somehow, in this rotten universe, she had gained so much. More and more she’d found herself grappling with the idea that if her reality was put in front of her next to an imagined future from a world long gone, she’d pick exactly where she is. 

She’d found a strength in herself she didn’t know she had on the farm and she’d found him. And now they’d found a life together that they could share with someone else.

Yep. There was no way she wouldn’t pick this. 

“Dog!”

He whistled, jarring her off of her cloud and planting her feet back on the ground right over the threshold of their door. She turned to face him, as always, smiling. 

“I really mean it, Daryl Dixon. I know you’ll be the best daddy.” 

His ears went red and his eyes fell to his feet for the briefest of moments before returning to her face. He was chewing his lip, almost as if he didn’t want her to be so sure, but he still nodded. He let himself hear her, thank god. He really let himself consider that she might be just as right about this as she is about everything else. 

He released his lip from his teeth, and she saw his eyes take on an almost feisty spark. 

“That mean I can pick the name?”

_Oh, Mr. Dixon. Don’t press your luck._

“You come up with something more creative than ‘Kid Dixon’ and we’ll talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay—I really wanted to try and not go down the whole baby road for the project, but I’m a sucker for Bethyl babies and this challenge is so wonderfully optimistic and Daddy Daryl is a kink and I couldn’t help it. Sorry not sorry. Thanks again, guys. ❤️


End file.
